Here Burns My Candle

PRAISE FOR
Here Burns My Candle

“Liz Curtis Higgs has an unmatched ability to illuminate the depth of human emotions while taking her readers on a breathtaking journey through the darkness and light of another time and another place. With the deft hand only a master storyteller can apply, Higgs reaches back to the past and weaves a multi-threaded tapestry into a brilliant tale of betrayal and challenge, love and redemption. Her gift continues to shine.”

—BJ HOFF, author of The Emerald Ballad series

“A wonderful retelling of the story of Ruth by one of my favorite authors.
Here Burns My Candle
is rich with historic detail and living, breathing characters that engaged me from page one right through to the perfect ending.”

—FRANCINE RIVERS, author of
Redeeming Love

“Prepare to burn your own candle well into the night as Higgs treats us to a
verra
wonderful Scottish tale of faith, forgiveness, love, loss, and secrets. I
couldna
put it
doon
!”

—DEEANNE GIST, author
of A Bride in the Bargain

“Settle in with
Here Burns My Candle
, Liz Curtis Higgs’s imaginative reworking of the tale of Naomi and Ruth, and venture back to a dangerous and fascinating time with characters who are as endearing as they are flawed. You can almost hear the drums of war and the swish of kilts and satin.”

—ANGELA HUNT, author of
Let Darkness Come

“Higgs’s pen flows with gold when it turns to Scotland. Enticing from gripping first page to satisfying last,
Here Burns My Candle
will sweep you away!”

—TAMERA ALEXANDER, author of
Beyond This Moment

“Once again Liz Curtis Higgs pens an exceptional story of intrigue, romance, and spiritual faith. Her attention to historical detail gives this story a life all its own, and the characters were so real I found myself thinking about them throughout the day. I simply could not put this book down.”

—TRACIE PETERSON, author of
Dawn’s Prelude

“Liz Curtis Higgs writes with a cinematic eye—color, texture, emotional depth. Her words give breath to this fresh twist on a beloved Old Testament story.
Here Burns My Candle
radiates the author’s love of Scotland and its mesmeric history in this story of women bound by obligation yet tethered to devotion. It will keep you up all night until you’ve turned the last dramatic page!”

—PATRICIA HICKMAN, author of
The Pirate Queen

“I love a story that engages the heart first, the mind second. While reading Higgs’s novel, I became her noble heroine and was convicted by similarities to her antagonist, learning through it all. Come away to an enchanting glimpse of ancient Scotland and beyond. Truly
amazing
.”

—LISA TAWN BERGREN, author of
The Begotten

PRAISE FOR
Thorn in My Heart, Fair Is the Rose, Whence Came a Prince,
and
Grace in Thine Eyes

“Filled with Scottish history, lore, language, and geography, Higgs’s first historical-fiction novel…shows a master storyteller’s skill in shedding new light on a timeless story.”

—CBA MARKETPLACE

“Admirably, Higgs keeps her protagonists multifaceted and readers’ allegiances shifting as the story unfolds. A welcome glossary helps readers navigate the Scottish terms that lend color to the dialogue, and historical details… create a vivid backdrop.”

—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

“The dynamic conclusion to Higgs’s acclaimed retelling of the biblical Jacob story fulfills the promise of the first volumes—a must-own for historical-fiction fans. Emotions run the gamut, and clear-cut characters sparkle against a backdrop of superbly researched historical detail.”

—ROMANTIC TIMES Inspirational Romance TOP PICK

“Higgs, whose historical romances are refreshingly different, has written an absorbing, well-crafted novel with a gut-wrenching plot that will move readers. Highly recommended.”

—LIBRARY JOURNAL Starred Review

OTHER BOOKS BY LIZ CURTIS HIGGS

HISTORICAL FICTION
Thorn in My Heart
Fair Is the Rose
Whence Came a Prince
Grace in Thine Eyes

CONTEMPORARY FICTION
Mixed Signals
Bookends

NONFICTION
Bad Girls of the Bible
Really Bad Girls of the Bible
Unveiling Mary Magdalene
Slightly Bad Girls of the Bible
Rise and Shine
Embrace Grace
My Heart’s in the Lowlands

CHILDREN’S
The Parable of the Lily
The Sunflower Parable
The Pumpkin Patch Parable
The Pine Tree Parable
Go Away, Dark Night

For two treasured Elizabeths in my life:
Elizabeth Crawford Potts
,
my beloved mother
,
who left this world too soon
,
and
Elizabeth Sullivan McLain Higgs
,
my precious daughter-in-law
,
who brings our family such joy
.

And for Bill,
always and forever
.

All the darkness in the world
cannot extinguish the light
of a single candle.

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI

One

Night’s black mantle
covers all alike.

GUILLAUME DE SALLUSTE DU BARTAS

Milne Square, Edinburgh
14 September 1745

L
ady Marjory Kerr heard a frantic tapping at the bedchamber door, then her name, spoken with marked urgency.

“News from the Royal Bank,
mem.”

At this hour?
Marjory lifted her head from the pillow, her gaze drawn to the wooden shutters, closed for the night. The coals in the fireplace had faded to a dull glow. She squinted but could not read the clock on the mantelpiece. Had she slept at all?

“What is it, Peg?” Marjory called out.

Her maidservant answered in a breathless rush of words, “They’re moving the bank’s effects to the castle.”

The hair on the back of Marjory’s neck rose. Transporting money and documents from the foot of New Bank Close to Edinburgh Castle involved a long climb up a winding street where brigands and thieves lurked in the shadows. The Royal Bank would never embark on so risky a venture. Not unless the day’s alarming reports had proven true.

“’Tis the
Hielanders,”
Peg whispered through the crack in the door as if the word itself might bring a hoard of savages thundering up the stair, brandishing their swords. “Folk say the rebel army will reach Linlithgow by morn.”

At that, Marjory flung off her bedcovers, any notion of sleep forgotten. Linlithgow Palace was less than twenty miles west. The army was too near her door. And far too near her sons, one of whom stood ready to bear arms at the slightest provocation. Was there nothing she could say to dissuade him?

She hurried across the carpet barefooted, too distraught to hunt for
her brocade slippers. All of Edinburgh had followed the ominous approach of the Highland rebels led by their bonny Prince Charlie. Determined to reclaim the British throne for his exiled father, James—
Jacobus
in Latin—the young prince and his loyal Jacobites were marching toward Scotland’s capital, intent on capturing the city.

“May it not be so,” Marjory said under her breath, then swept open the bedchamber door to find her maidservant perched on the threshold, her linen cap askew, her brown eyes filled with fear.

“What are we to do,
Leddy
Kerr?”

“Bolt the door at once.” Marjory tightened the ribbons on her sleeping jacket, warding off the night air that seeped in, however fast the shutters. Her trembling had nothing to do with the fearsome Highlanders, she told herself. Nae, not for a moment. “Make haste, lass.”

She watched Peg scurry through the darkened drawing room into the entrance hall, holding aloft her candle stub, which cast a pale circle of light on her tattered nightgown. Small for her seventeen years, with hair the color of a dull copper ha’penny, Peg Cargill was hardly a beauty. Her eyes were set unbecomingly close together, and her small nose disappeared amid a sea of freckles.

By the fire’s glow Marjory caught a glimpse of herself in the silvery looking glass by her side. She quickly turned away but not before her thoughts came round to taunt her.
Hardly a beauty
. She touched her thinning crown of hair and her sagging chin, then sighed, wishing the glass offered better news. Had it not always been thus?

In her youth few gentlemen had taken note of her until they learned she was the daughter of Sir Eldon Nesbitt. Even then their gazes had fallen on her father’s impressive property rather than on her unremarkable face or figure. Time had not improved matters.

Peg reappeared, bobbing a curtsy. “’Tis done, milady.”

Marjory gestured toward the adjoining chambers, where her sons and their wives had retired for the night. “Have you told the others the news?”

“Nae.” A faint blush tinted Peg’s cheek. “I heard them…that is… Mr. Kerr…”

“See they’re not disturbed,” Marjory said firmly, wanting no details.

“And keep the stair door bolted.” She dismissed the girl with a nod, then locked the chamber door behind her. Let the Highlanders storm the crumbling walls of Edinburgh. They would not gain entrance to the Kerrs’ apartments. Mr. Baillie, the merchant who owned her residence, would see to that.

Alone once more Marjory lit a candle at the fireplace, then drew a steadying breath and knelt beside the canopied bed, as if preparing to offer her nightly prayers. Instead, she reached down and loosened one of the boards along the edge of the thick, woven carpet. Her servants, even her family members, believed the Kerr fortune rested safely among the Royal Bank’s effects, now bound for the castle. She alone knew the truth. Lord John Kerr had never trusted banks.

The board gave way, revealing a musty repository between the joists. Marjory bent closer, her nose wrinkling at the dank smell, her eyes seeking a cluster of leather purses in the flickering candlelight.
There
. The mere sight of them put her mind at ease. Nearly two dozen purses lay hidden beneath her chamber floor—a tribute to God’s provision and her late husband’s prudence.

She chose the nearest one, taking pleasure in its weight before slowly emptying the purse onto her bedding. One hundred gold guineas poured out, each coin stamped with the profile of her sovereign, King George. Marjory counted the lot, then set aside a few guineas for the coming week’s expenses and returned the bulging purse to its nesting place.